Monday, February 28, 2011

A million thanks goes to my very good friend, who shall remain nameless (unless she chooses to reveal her identity), for coining the term "sex-esteem."

We all have heard of self-esteem and we know how we value self, but how do we value sex and our relationship with the act? How do you truly feel about your sex life? Is it good, bad, or indifferent? Rockin' awesome or just adequate? Have you ever considered your sex-esteem?

I'm far from being a sexpert and I don't usually think sex is all that difficult, but it really is a complicated thing, isn't it? I mean, really, it is the most intimate expression possible between humans. The physical joining of separate people can be deeply moving, to the point that tears of joy are shed over the wondrous experience. Or it can be profoundly disappointing to the point that you don't even see the point. I can say that I've experienced both situations and, even though crying during or after sex is generally discouraged, the former is far preferred over the latter!

Sex is odd, right? It can be an expression of the highest and purest form of love, freely giving everything you can offer to someone else. . .so wonderful and so touching. Yet it can also be a base and animalistic response, completely detached from our higher thinking and any sense of reason. . .so wonderful and so hedonistic.

Sexual compatibility is important in a relationship. I think so anyway. That's not to say that I think simultaneous orgasms are necessary to have compatibility. It's very nice, of course, but certainly not necessary. I think it's more important to clearly communicate desires and reach an understanding of sexual expectations.

I'm sure this shocks no one reading this, but I like to do it a lot. And, if that's not happening, I have no problem taking matters into my own hands - if you catch my meaning. But I damn sure would have a problem if my husband wasn't willing to at least try to accommodate me or be respectful of my desires. It would hurt my sex-esteem!

I'd begin to feel unloved, unwanted, and undesirable if my partner's actions (or, more accurately, lack of action) were injuring my sex-esteem. Even more detrimental to the relationship, I'd begin to feel judged. Nothing kills the glorious blossom of true intimacy more completely than harshly judging your partner's desires. Nothing!

You know, I basically just described how I felt throughout my first marriage and that was a sad, sad chapter in my life. My self-esteem was wounded and, more painfully, my sex-esteem was battered. His rejection and ambivalence damn near did me in. Just when I was dejectedly sprawled out at the brink, the smoldering rebellion that never was fully snuffed out somehow reached full flame and I burned that marriage, that entire relationship, to the ground.

I walked away and never looked back. In doing so, I rediscovered who I am and I found that I really like myself. I am a bit of a horn-dog, but that's okay. I'd wager that my husband thinks that's more than just okay - ha! I learned a lot from that dark time, most notably that a person is a complex tapestry of feelings, moods, and emotions. And that self-esteem and sex-esteem are often fully intertwined.

As I relearned to value myself, I learned to value my pleasure. I realized that my sex drive is as much a part of me as my kindness, loyalty, or generosity. All of those things are good and so is knowing who I am from a sexual standpoint. My sex-esteem was built up and restored through my relationship with my husband and my self-esteem naturally rose with my joy and personal satisfaction.

Have you ever considered your sex-esteem? Is your partner respectful of your desires? Are you happy with your relationship from a sexual standpoint? If you've answered "no" to the immediately previous two questions, you really should have a heart to heart talk with your partner.

Are you shying away from having that potentially dangerous conversation? I can understand that it may be uncomfortable and possibly lead to an argument or even a dissolution of the relationship. But please realize that honesty is always the best foundation for any relationship. It's like faking orgasms - you should never do it because then you are always compelled to fake it. And, at some point, we always will tire of faking it and we'll want to feel something genuine.

We were all meant to live a real life and it's my hope that you're living yours to the fullest. Leave pretending to actors and be real in every aspect of your life!

Sunday, February 27, 2011

I've discovered that the subject of my epiphany post is still working at the same place I met him and that has caused me a lot of distress over the last few weeks. I have frequently attended his workplace with my young son for well over a year. The kiddo loves it there and I always have too. However, I'm concerned that I should avoid this place at all cost because I'm not so sure that it would be emotionally safe for me to visit if it means that I might see him.

I mentioned all this to a very dear friend. She knew me back then and she knew him too. I indicated that my concern is that I'd see him and that I'd see that the spell between us was broken between us. That I'd just be some frumpy middle-aged housewife in his eyes. That's true, as I'd sure hate the blow to my ego, but it's more than that though. . .it's that I fear that I would be putting myself directly in temptation's path.

I detest liars, thieves, and cheaters. And believe me when I say that someone who cheats on their spouse is all three in one. We so easily begin to resemble that which we hate. . .could I ever be an adulteress? Could I ever be so easily tempted? I don't think so, but I am very aware that my pride in my faithfulness could very well lead to faithlessness.

My friend smartly pointed out that I'm too much in love with my husband and our son to do anything to jeopardize this family. She's right about that because my family is my everything. I'm sure readers of this blog know how much my husband & son mean to me; they truly are as vital as the air that I breathe.

She also pointed out that my epiphany subject was old back then and that means that he's ancient now. She's not so right about that. He's only a few years older than my husband and I certainly don't think my hubs is "old" - let alone "ancient!"

She added that we probably wouldn't even recognize each other anyway since so much time has gone by and we surely have aged in the last twenty-years. Oh my, she is right about that! I was looking over some old photos of myself and, well, I look nothing like I did back then. I think I peaked (from a physically attractive standpoint) at around 19- or 20-years old. And it totally pains me to admit that was a long time ago. It sucks, but there you go.

I am an honest woman and I have discussed this potential problem at length with my husband. He knows about the entire relationship and he knows every intimate detail. Yeah, yeah, so I kiss & tell - to my spouse!

Yet he laughed at my concerns and basically advised me to stop worrying about silly situations that weren't likely to ever happen. After all, I go to this place with our son - that alone stops any sexy situations dead. I guess no one really wants to make time with a Mom. Additionally, we frequently are in the company of other mamas & toddlers - another sexual killer.

And that's even allowing for the thought that this man and I would still have this fiery hot connection burning between us. . .and, let's face it, we do not and we will not because the years would have eroded whatever it was that brought the two of us together. So, really, the chances to destroy my marriage are virtually nil.

My little boy and I went to this particular place the other day. We had a wonderful time with two other mamas and their children. I did not run into an old love and I didn't particularly worry about it either. My son gets so excited when he sees where we are going and I can't possibly trip down my own memory lane when my little boy is busily building his own memories.

The past is gone and I've never made a habit of going backward. So it is entirely possible (remotely possible, really) that I may see this man at some point. . .but I wasn't brought to him to have for life. However, I did voluntarily give myself to my husband in a ceremony that was witnessed by well over 100 of our friends and family. And that union brought forth our son. . .our wonderful son!

I am my beloved's and he is mine. No man will tear us apart; even a man who has known me in the distant past. I can confidently enjoy this venue because I do know that the love I have for my husband overrides any lust or nostalgia that I can possibly feel. Feelings, after all, are fleeting. But the love and admiration that I have for my husband is deeper than the oceans, higher than the sky, and sweeter than the most tender nectar. He is the harbor in which I seek refuge and life's storms will never tear me from his safe bay. To put it quite simply, I adore my husband and nothing that is of this world could pull me away from him.

So I will confidently enter this park and appreciate seeing the joy in my son's face. And I will leave the past where it belongs. . .solidly in the past.

Saturday, February 26, 2011

What are those crafty Girl Scouts putting in their cookies these days?! I was surprised at news of the Thin Mint fight in Florida. Seriously? I can see things getting heated over Tagalongs because chocolate and peanut putter are a marriage made in Cookie Heaven, but Thin Mints? Thin freaking Mints?

Really, who likes mint with their chocolate? You know, I've never gnawed on a chocolate bar and thought it would be improved with a minty addition. And I like both mint and chocolate! I just think they are foul when combined. It's like Raisinets; both raisins and chocolate are good on their own, but they suck when put together.

Are you a Thin Mint lover? What's the appeal that I'm missing? More importantly, would you ever assault someone over your precious cookies? If you answered yes to the last question, do the world a favor and get professional help.

I sent a message describing my freaky vaginal symptoms to a friend and she strongly suggested that I get a professional opinion right away. So I bit the bullet and sent my doctor a message. Thankfully, I never drink during the day so at least I won't cringe at anything I wrote to him. . .you all know exactly what I'm referring to!

I kid you not, he responded in four minutes. Four minutes! I don't even respond that quickly to messages from my own family! If anyone reading this is a Kaiser member and they are looking for an OB/GYN, I will totally give him a recommendation. It's also important to note that he has a soft touch, if you know what I mean.

I'll spare the readership what I actually wrote, but I'm pretty good with words and I give disgustingly detailed descriptions so I didn't even have to come to the office. Yeah, no kidding Doc, I wouldn't want to see this mess up close either - haha! He replied that I gave an excellent description of a yeast infection and advised me to hightail it over to a pharmacy or drug store to pick up some Monistat.

He didn't give me any sex advice, but yeast infections aren't considered to be an STD. However, I'm guessing it's not a good idea to sex up my husband at the moment. And, honestly, why would he want to stick his dick in a minge that's making muffins? Oh, Candida, you rascally wench, you've successfully staged a coup d'etat up in my fun zone and temporarily put my nether region out of commission. Again with this no sex BS! Grrr!

I've never had a yeast infection before and I have no idea why I suddenly developed one now. Like I said in my previous post, I have been blessed with a remarkably low-maintenance vagina. All I've had to do in my entire life is trim the hedges and keep the undercarriage clean and it took care of the rest. If this is just a normal part of aging, I can confidently say that I prefer the alternative.

But I have heard from two women who experienced yeast infections soon after losing a baby. I find that interesting and wonder if it has something to do with the cervix still being somewhat open or just being more prone to a fungal takeover due to shifting hormones or some other reason. Of course, ignoring the doctor's sex advice to use rubbers probably wasn't the smartest move, but I had a logical reason. Well, it seemed logical at the time anyway.

I was surprised to discover that a vagina afflicted with a yeast infection doesn't smell funky at all. In fact, it smells remarkably normal. I would have thought that it would have a bad odor or at least smell a little "off" down there. I don't even have any terribly weird discharge or anything like that. My point in mentioning these things is that it's possible to have a real infection without any really gross symptoms. Uncomfortable symptoms, sure, but not horribly gross.

There you have it. My husband's personal playground is shut down once again, meaning that the both of us will be grouchy for about a week. So don't accuse me of having a sandy vagina because, as we now know, I have a yeasty vagina.

I have a very specific situation with my ladyparts and I want to get advice about it, but I don't want to send a message to my doctor because he probably already thinks I'm a hot mess.

Curse you, Drunklestiltsken, for embarrassing me in front of my own damn doctor!

My husband says that doctors are used to patients asking about grossness and we pay them to listen to our funky problems, but I am not prone to experiencing any freaky stuff downstairs and I totally don't want to describe my situation in much detail. . .let alone have someone pawing around down there when things aren't absolutely awesome. I kinda pride myself on having a wonderfully fantastic vagina and I don't want anyone, even a doctor, seeing it and digging in if it's not as lovely as possible. Yeah, I take extra care when trimming the hedges if I have a doctor's appointment the next day. . .just as I'd make the extra effort if I had a date with a sexy man!

What's a girl who is impossibly vain about her vagina to do? Well, I put on my doctor's coat and hit the internet to self-diagnose what's going on at the Y.

Aaaand the results are inconclusive. Dammit!

I'm leaning toward one thing, but I just don't know because I've never had a weird situation brewing down below. I've never had an infection or disease or inflammation or anything out of the ordinary happen in my sexyparts so I'm mystified why I might have a problem now. Seriously, I've had a remarkably blessed and resilient vagina for my entire life and this funny stuff that's going on isn't all that funny. It's definitely funny queer v funny haha. I'm sorely tempted to use some home remedies for the thing that I think I might be experiencing. However, in the event that I'm wrong, I don't want to screw things up any more than they already seem to be down there.

I don't even want to indicate what my symptoms are because I'm so creeped out by the entire situation. I realize now that I probably should have followed my OB's advice about both abstinence and rubbers, but I guess it's too late now. I mean, you can't exactly put the cat bag in the bag. Alternately, once you start going bareback, there's no point in going back. . .?

I told hubs that if the playground isn't back in working order in a day or so that I'd swallow my pride and contact my doctor. Naturally, I'd like to avoid doing so because of the vanity I explained above. I guess that I should bite the bullet at some point, but I so dread sharing this scene with anyone. . .even someone who is/should be used to see effd-up sh*t going on up in women.

Speaking anonymously, of course, have you ever had a weird situation down below? What did you have? What were your symptoms - please be as specific as possible? How did you take care of it? And do you think I'm being lame to not want to go to the doctor?

Thursday, February 24, 2011

I received a phone call at a quarter of nine this morning and it startled me out of enjoying "the news" with my kiddo. I was a little miffed at the phone ringing at what I consider to be an early hour, but I jumped up to go get the phone. I noted that the caller ID came up "unknown name/unknown number" and I was tempted to ignore it, but the kiddo kept singing about the phone ringing (thanks, Wonder Pets) so I answered. The connection was a little bad and I had to chase my son out of the room so I could hear the caller. The man had an accent that I couldn't easily identify, but I'm leaning toward it being from a certain part of the world.

He asked for me by a name that I haven't gone by in nearly six-years. Red flags were already popping up at the unknown name & number on the caller ID, but they jumped up and started waving at the name he used. Why? Because I never lived here when I had that last name. Toss in that I'm not on any documents or bills related to running this particular house and I wondered how I was even remotely connected to living here at all and why I would ever receive a phone call at this house, at this phone number.

I ignored that he'd asked for anyone and asked who was calling and why. He claimed to be from a very large bank that I did use at one time for a very short period. When did I use this bank? Over a decade ago. Doubly strange, I thought, that I'd get a phone call from that bank at this house. I mean, I hadn't even married my ex-husband at that point and I certainly wasn't living here with this one!

I asked why he was calling and he said he needed to verify that I was the person he was calling about. I simply indicated that, yes, it was a name I had used in the past and asked again what he was calling about. He repeated that he needed to verify I was who I said and I repeated that it was, in fact, a name I have used. I didn't say anything else because I don't volunteer personal information to strangers over the phone. I lost it when he brought up this verification yet again.

Look, this may have been a perfectly nice man and this may be a legitimate situation he was calling about, but I don't like wasting my time or my breath. I told him that he had all the verification he was ever going to get over the phone and that the company can just send me something via USPS if he were truly representing the bank he claimed. I chimed in that I have little patience to have conversations such as these at this time of day and strongly suggested that he not call again because I won't be nearly so tolerant in the future.

His response? Again with the friggin' verification of who I was! I was sure that it was a scam long before now so I hung up.

I'm writing this post because I think it would be too easy to get scammed in this situation. He did, after all, claim to be from a bank that I did use at some time in my life. However, it's one of the largest banks in the country so the odds are pretty good that I might have used it at some point, right? He also used a name that I haven't used in a long time and, since I know that I am that person, I might be more likely to "prove" to him that I am that person. Who knows what he wanted for proof. . .my guess would be date of birth, possibly social security number, in any event it's information that he'd already have if he were in fact from that bank and it's information that's none of his damn business if he wasn't who he claimed.

I think he was out fishing and I'm glad I didn't bite. Be aware of the personal information you give or volunteer over the phone. Just because they claim to from a legitimate business, it doesn't mean that they are.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Have you ever felt like life is giving you the finger? I have felt that way at times and I'm pretty sure that everyone else has as well. I don't know if my coping skills have totally gone out the window or what, but I have felt that life is completely screwing with me lately.

I don't recall the last time I was asleep before 2:00 am without being medicated. Even easy tasks require monumental effort and I find myself unable to perform all but the most simple jobs. Since feeling so crushed, I don't even recognize myself anymore. I'm having trouble remembering the last time that I haven't felt overwhelmed by life. I know I felt differently at one point, I must have, but I don't know when that may have been.

I've been pondering something that I said a week or so ago. I've actually been tormented by it. I said, "I used to be somebody. Who am I now?" I only meant to say the last line, but the first slipped out before I could pull it back and stuff it back down to that deep, dark place I don't want to acknowledge.

Now that I've verbalized something that shouldn't have seen the light of day, I've been thinking of it nonstop. Isn't that what's really bothering me? I miss who I was and I don't particularly like who I am now.

I used to be important, at least I felt I was, and now I'm what? A mom? A wife? That's it? Yes, that's really it.

Who was I? Why do I miss who I was? Because I was someone who could handle anything! I took on life's curve balls and knocked those bitches right out of the park. Like a cat, I always landed on my feet; I may have landed hard and it may have hurt, but I didn't stay down and I kept moving forward. I knew that I was one of life's winners. I believed that I could make anything happen by my own determination to make the magic. I think that who I was wouldn't have much patience with who I am now.

I was listening to Joni Mitchell's haunting River and I can sure identify with the desire to skate away. I'm sure it's just the perfect storm of my midlife crisis, the exceptionally painful losses suffered within the last twelve months, and the incredibly overwhelming pain in my ass (and to my wallet) that my condo has been since November, but I am exhausted with it all. Just completely and totally spent.

If I weren't a responsible wife and mother, I'd be sorely tempted to shake off the dust off and move on without a glance backward. I won't, of course, because I am who I am - a responsible wife and mother. I'm a lot of things these days, but I'm not a quitter and I certainly wouldn't abandon my family. Oh, but I remember having the freedom to skate away on a river so long. . .

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Bosses and business owners know and hate this simple fact: There isn't an employee on the planet who actually puts in every single minute of work that they are paid to perform. Feel free to dispute this, claim that you work every second of every day, and I'll feel free to call you on your BS. An employee is paid for their complete shift, let's say it's eight hours of work, but there is no way they actually work eight hours in a given day. Legally mandated lunch breaks and rest periods aside, it's human nature to mentally relax whenever you get an opportunity to stop working. Don't think I'm slamming it because I find nothing wrong with recharging your battery by checking out of work for a few minutes.

I always felt I was a good employee and I'd bet money that my employer agreed. However, I took plenty of chances to grab a smoke, get another cup of coffee, hit up the vending machines, and shoot the breeze with co-workers. Go ahead, mock my work ethic, but I needed the distraction of friendly human interaction to reset my brain after being mentally exhausted from work. I work hard and I fully expect and need to play hard too.

I don't work these days; well, it's more accurate to say that I don't work for wages any longer. I don't have co-workers, but I do have my fellow stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) friends. We can't exactly gather around an office water cooler to chit-chat throughout the day, but we can log-in to Facebook. And I do whenever I get a chance because it's an easy way to get a little adult interaction and I can quickly jump back to my SAHM job duties at any time. A 2 1/2-year old can be an incredibly frustrating boss and some days require more water cooler time than others!

This came up when someone I don't personally know suggested that her spouse objected to the amount of time she's on Facebook. I don't know the particulars so I can't comment on their situation, but I find it hard to see the problem unless the home and children are being neglected. Who cares if someone wants to pretend to harvest crops or feed fish? Understand that I say this as someone who totally does not get the appeal of those sorts of games. Who cares if someone just wants a little human interaction to break up the monotony (or aggravation) of the present day? Yes, I say this as someone who has had plenty of aggravatingly monotonous days!

My husband is on my Facebook friend list and I suppose he could take it upon himself to spy on my FB activity levels. He's not my boss though so I double-dog dare him to do it, but he certainly has the ability to do so. In any event, I don't begrudge him whatever he does on-line (at home or at work) and I suspect he feels the same about my internet activities. I mean, as long as we get our jobs done, who cares how we want to decompress?

Have your internet activity levels ever been the root (or symptom) of problems in your relationship? And, to reverse the question, has your spouse's internet activity levels ever caused problems between the two of you? How did you work through the situation? I'm looking forward to reading your comments!

Sunday, February 20, 2011

My son & I were driving to baby school the other day and he suddenly said, "Clapton-Time!" Yes, an Eric Clapton song was on the radio. I'm definitely back in the running for Mother of the Year, right??

My son was watching a youtube video of While My Guitar Gently Weeps from Concert for Bangladesh with my husband and, after it was over, the little one loudly exclaimed, "GOOD MUSIC!" Hubs and I looked at each other and nodded in agreement that our son might be the coolest toddler ever.

We were listening to Steve Miller Band in the car yesterday and he said, "Elvis." Uh, what? So he's two for three on music this week and that's perfectly respectable for a 2 1/2-year old.

My super-awesome quote of the day: "This curry is so damn good that I think my mouth is having an orgasm."

To my husband after leaving the restaurant and still carrying on about my awesome curry, "You're right to be jealous of my delicious curry because, while I'm jealous of your iPhone, at least my curry can actually get inside of me and give me great satisfaction." I totally do not want to know if there's an app for iPhone penetration and I will not do a GIS! I won't dangit!!

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Whoa! I've been checking out my blog stats fairly regularly and I'm floored by the truths they reveal. I lost the stats on my old blog once I killed it, but I noted a few things prior to burning it down.

- My most popular post topics (based on pageviews) are, in no particular order: my dead brother, my dead baby, and sex. An odd mix, to be sure, and I'm not sure what to make of it. I suppose if I wrote about necrophilia the page clicks would go off the friggin' charts, huh? And you guys think I'm the sicko!
- My drunken exploits are also quite popular and I've noted that the posts with self-deprecating humor are also well received. I find this interesting because, as I've said time and again, I just don't do funny.
- Readers are more far likely to share a sex-related post than a non-sexy post. I suppose I have quite the horny readership! Like author, like reader - right?
- I've had some posts shared by more than 30 people. I know that doesn't sound like much, but I only have 17 official followers on this blog so even non-followers are sharing my posts. So, if you're willing to share my words, why aren't you all following me?? Click the "Follow" button on the right to follow me with GFC. Seriously, nearly 100 of you were willing to sign in to read my blog when it was only visible by invitation only. . .
- This blog has only been in existence since the end of September (some of you remember that I had to transfer over the old posts from the previous blog) and I have well over 1,500 more pageviews on this blog than I did on the old blog and the old blog was in existence more than 9 1/2-months.
- Over 100 people wanted to know which song was the sexiest one ever recorded.
- Indeed, I had over 100 pageviews on at three different days last week. To rip off a favorite Mel Brooks movie, I'd say I'm rapidly becoming a big underground success! In another 25-years, I might be able to shake your hands in broad daylight - haha!
- Prior to switching to this new blog and losing the old stats, The Potty Training Post was the most viewed post by more than 2 to 1. Potty training is a serious business!
- I've been read by readers in ten other countries. Prior to ditching my old blog, there were about thirty countries represented on my audience list.
- I get comments from readers on the blog itself, on Facebook, and also via e-mail. I average around five comments per post. Yeah, I had too much time on my hands since I felt the need to figure that one out!

I like to write and sometimes it gripes me that I'm willing to spend the time writing a blog for instant gratification rather than actually complete one of my novels. Getting instant feedback is damn addicting for a writer, but I'm sure that I'll stop wasting my effort blogging and take on one of my true labors of love at some point. A critique group that I used to belong to gave great praise to a particular memoir that I was working on and that book is never far from my mind because I lived it and survived in a most spectacular fashion.

I've tried many hobbies over my life (crochet, eggery, scrapbooking, & plenty more!) and I always return to my first true love: the written word. Self expression and the freedom to express thought are things that I love and cherish. I realize that I've touched on some personal topics in this blog, but it is nothing compared to what I've written in the past; I've written about some incredibly painful and intense situations and how I've grown from those experiences. This blog may not be Mr. Right, but at least it is Mr. Right Now and that's good enough for me. . .for now!

Friday, February 18, 2011

My husband and I were discussing sunbathing the other day. If you know how pale the two of us are, you'd quickly realize just how lame this convo must have been, but we had it nonetheless. It's official, we must have run out of things to talk about since we're kvetching about the dumbest topics!

Anyway, I scoffed at these horrible tan lines and my hubs was waaay the heck into them. Like really diggin' tan lines. He even reminisced about the tan lines his ex-wife sported. I was surprised almost to the point that my mouth was going to hang agape. After all, I'm a white chick who is a nude sunbather and I assumed everyone liked sun-kissed skin. Turns out I was wrong!

He said tan lines are sexy because they highlight the very best parts of a woman's body. I don't disagree that they call attention to boobs, butts, and the rest, but I also don't think they're sexy. I mean, you'd know a snatch were there whether or not there was a tan line, right?! So why is a tan line necessary to call attention to it???

I realize that I'm pretty damn free & loose about such things, but I see a tan line and think it's sad that the wearer didn't have the opportunity to sunbathe nude. Honestly, there is little else in this life that is as appealing to me than the feeling of the sun kissing my entire body. Completely and totally reaching every single part of me. The feeling of being at one with all of nature is simply unbelievable unless you've also experienced such unfettered joy.

I sunbathed nude for many years and never gave much thought about my sun exposure. Well, I gave plenty of thought about it the time I sunburned my nipples and my labia. . .other than that though, I never really cared. I just feel like the sun lights me up and I love how it feels when the tingling of the sun's rays go running throughout my body whenever I'm lazing about in the sun. It's my Summer poison and I love it!

Having neighbors (dangit!) and a kid (aww!) make it darn near impossible to chillax in the buff on my hammock in the backyard. And hitting Trail 6 at San Onofre is even more out of reach, not to mention more illegal these days. What's a semi-nudist to do? Wear the smallest bikini she can squeeze her fat ass into I suppose. I hate wearing a bathing suit, but you gotta do what you gotta do to not completely scandalize the neighborhood.

It's just as well, I guess, since my son seems entranced by my pubic hair these days. Should I take that as my cue to stop being seen naked in front of him? I don't want him to be all weirded out by nudity, but I also don't want to raise Oedipus. I'm sure I'll end up writing a post about it, but does anyone have any thoughts on this?

What are your thoughts? Are tan lines hot? Or is an all-over tan sexier? Weigh in below and I'll see you in the Summer. . .with or without a suit! ;-)

Thursday, February 17, 2011

My senior citizenry is beginning just a little too early for my taste. I documented my annoyance with my pubic hair back in October and I have discovered yet another age-related complaint. For the record, I'm still not sporting a merkin. . .yet!

I should probably stop claiming to be under-30 at this point, because I think I'm courting bifocals. Bi-freaking-focals! I wish I was just kidding, but I'm as serious as a heart attack.

It all started when I was pregnant at the end of last year. My eyes were so impossibly dry that I couldn't tolerate wearing contacts so, for the first time in more years than I care to admit, I began regularly wearing eyeglasses. It was fine at first, but I found myself slipping my specs down to the tip of my nose to see things clearly up close or to read fine print.

I knew what this meant, I've seen my hubs push his glasses out of the way enough times when trying to read, but I told myself it's just because I don't see as clearly with my glasses. And I really don't so that's not just my vanity talking. A couple of weeks after my miscarriage was complete, I started wearing my contacts again and I assumed all would be fine with my vision.

Guess what? I can't see anything up close or tiny. I can not see anywhere near as well as I used to. Plucking eyebrows? Impossible. Clipping my son's nails? Impossible. Reading a menu with ridiculously small type? Impossible. All of these things are impossible unless I take out my contacts and get waaay up close so I can see.

I've been nearsighted since I was twelve so I'm used to being blind, but this is just lame. Someone suggested that I buy a pair of readers to keep for when I'm trying to do things like read menus. . .friggin' reading glasses! The point of wearing contact lenses is that you don't have to wear freaking eyeglasses!

My blindness was apparent the other night, Valentine's, when I could not read the menu at dinner. I actually found myself gripping about the dimly lit restaurant and the minuscule font size on the menu. Aw, nuts! I'm not only blind and have greying pubic hair, but now I even sound old! Dammit!

I'm almost afraid to ask what's next. An ear horn? A walker? Predicting weather based on how my shoulder/knee/hip feels? Yelling at neighborhood kids to get off my lawn?! Talking incessantly about the good ol' days?!

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

I know it's Wednesday and I've slacked off on posting a pic once a week, but I can't access my other computer so I won't be doing a picture post today. I've been cruising youtube for my musical entertainment and I kept hitting up songs that I remember well from my late-teens to early-20s. I have a wide range of musical likes and today it was all about Tupac and LL Cool J.

I've probably mentioned before that I dig LL Cool J and his songs are always fun. I know that I probably don't seem like someone who'd like his music since I'm something of a folk-rocking hippie, but I totally love him. I guess his name is accurate, eh? And, oh my, that man has the sexiest lips on the planet. I'm not a big fan of kissing on the mouth, but I'd make an exception for him.

This song is typically censored to bits on the radio, but here's the uncensored version of Doin It. It is probably the sexiest song ever written and, if it were possible to make me blush, I'd be beet red at certain parts. I submit the following line as an example: "I need a rough neck nigga Mandingo in the sac who ain't afraid to pull my hair and spank me from the back." Well, that young lady certainly knows what she needs!

I didn't make a Wordless Wednesday post, but I suppose I made a Wanton Wednesday one instead. They don't call it "hump day" for nothing!

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

I almost posted this yesterday, but thought it was not a good post for Valentine's day. I suppose it's cool for the day after though.

I was talking with a friend a few days ago and the subject of infidelity came up. I have very definite opinions on infidelity; after all, that was what finally forced me to pull the plug on my first marriage. I find it interesting that of all things that I found so intolerable about that entire marriage, and there were many, infidelity was apparently where I drew the line and it was the only thing that I would not tolerate.

It would be understandable if I said that I find infidelity unacceptable because most people aren't exactly for cheating. . .but that's not exactly what I said to my friend. I told her that I thought one indiscretion or even a brief fling wasn't enough of a reason to scrap an otherwise good marriage. A boyfriend/girlfriend relationship, sure, but not a marriage.

I could hardly believe the hypocrisy of what I had said, considering infidelity is what ultimately made me sink the doomed ship that was my first marriage. I've been mulling over what I said and wondering why I said it, but I do believe it to be true. We are all human and there are times that we totally and completely screw up. Yes, sometimes we can even screw up so badly that we screw people other than our own spouse.

Would I be happy with the knowledge that my husband gave all of his love to another? Of course not! I divorced one husband over it (among other things) and I would not be pleased if this husband did the same, but this is a completely different marriage and I'm in a different place in my life. That's not to say that hubs is getting a free pass to knock one out with some chippy, I'm just saying that a good marriage shouldn't be destroyed by one colossal mistake. . .understand that I'm not saying that I find repeated indiscretions to be acceptable.

The problem (just one problem, mind you) with infidelity is that, once it has been discovered, it is nearly impossible for the betrayed spouse to remove it from their mind. You may forgive your spouse and want to move forward, but you will never completely forget what they have done. The pain and doubt will linger, causing you to do and think things that you hate; I've been there and done that.

Even innocent things seem suspicious at that point; arriving home a little late from work, getting a phone call at an odd hour, any changes from the normal routine. You ultimately find yourself pawing through their things for further evidence because trust has been violated. Indeed, my rifling through my ex-husband's stuff yielded far more dirt than I ever could have imagined. . .and I have a pretty wild imagination!

What's the most important quality in a relationship? I think it's love and forgiveness naturally flows from love. After all, forgiveness is one of the greatest expressions of love. None of us has the right to get on our high horse and lord anything over our spouse and, if you truly love, you can truly forgive.

What are your thoughts? Am I growing altogether too libertine in my age or does this actually make sense to anyone else?

Monday, February 14, 2011

Hubs and I enjoyed a lovely evening out with two other couples tonight. It's been a long time since we've socialized with other adults and zero children, far too long, and I needed it tonight. I'm feeling good and mellow so I'm taking the night off from blogging.

I hope you had a happy V day too. And, for once, "V" is not a reference to vagina. . .or is it?!

Sunday, February 13, 2011

I want to send the biggest nasty-gram to Verizon for getting the iPhone because this stupid damned phone is rapidly becoming a wedge in my marriage. I semi-jokingly refer to my husband's iPhone as his girlfriend. Notice that I said "semi." He's so enamoured with this freaking phone that I am officially jealous.

I realize there is hypocrisy at work here. I am very chummy with my Magic Wand. Oh, I adore the Magic Wand and it is absolutely my favorite "appliance". . .but I don't ignore my husband so I can make out with my favorite vibrator. And I certainly don't tote it around with me!

I'm still incredibly desirous of my husband, even after nearly six-years of marriage, but I sometimes think he'd rather than play with his bitch iPhone than his young and horny wife. We had a rare night out to dinner without our little boy the other night to celebrate my husband's 55th birthday. I was stunned when he pulled his stupid friggin' phone out at the table once he'd finished his meal. I actually told him that it was bad taste to play with his girlfriend while his wife was at the table. Then I drowned my sorrow and frustration in a Grey Goose martini, straight up, with two olives.

Later that night, I damn near jumped off of him when I discovered the iPhone lounging so languid on my husband's bedside table. Seriously? She spends the night in our bedroom too?! The Blackberry never did, but the iPhone does. Umm, okay.

So what's the nerdy appeal at work here? Why is this phone so damn captivating? It can't suck him off, it can't eagerly spread it's legs, it can't do anything that I can and will do, but it gets more attention than I do. What the heck is the deal? I finally told him that he should just fuck it already. Is there an app for that??

He tells me that I just don't understand because I don't have an iPhone. Perhaps I don't understand. I'm not a big dork and I don't give a crap about electronic stuff so I'll likely never understand. But I still had to grit my teeth when he dragged me to the Apple store in the stupid mall on a friggin' Sunday so he could purchase baubles for his new love. I notice that I didn't get any new baubles. . .

I have discovered that I'm not the only iPhone widow. It appears that the iPhone seduces any man it comes in contact with and I know several frustrated wives. Are you an iPhone philanderer or an iPhone widow? Please share your experiences below!

Saturday, February 12, 2011

A hearty thanks goes out to a fellow blogger from The Days of a SAHM for helping me through my blogtastic button drama and hooking me up with the sweet, sweet blog button on the top left of this blog. I think that this button captures a fairly typical representation of my life: wearing my son, cooking, chatting on the phone, and glancing up just as the camera snaps my pic. The only thing missing is the dog barking. . .

PS Spare me any lip about the dangers wearing a baby or toddler while cooking. The child was in no danger because he was in a ring sling and I toss him on my back when I'm close to the stove. I wasn't near a burner, which is why he was positioned on my hip.

Friday, February 11, 2011

It's true that he's recently started a passionate affair and I'm insanely jealous, but I still love him to bits; blond hair, green eyes, bad back and all! So join me in wishing a happy birthday to my husband and here's a song I picked just for him today. He really is my vehicle. . .

Vehicle by Ides of MarchHey, well I'm the friendly stranger
In the black sedan
Oh won't you hop inside my car?
I got pictures, got candy, I am a lovable man
I'd like to take you to the nearest starI'm your vehicle baby
I'll take you anywhere you wanna go
I'm your vehicle woman
By now I'm sure you knowThat I love ya (love you)
Need ya (need you)
I want to, got to have you child
Great God in heaven, you know I love you

Well if you want to be a movie star
I got the ticket to Hollywood
Well if you want to stay just like you are
You know I think you really should

Thursday, February 10, 2011

I suspect that I'm at the beginning of a midlife crisis. Yeah, I realize that my midlife crisis has come a little early as 29 is quite young to experience a midlife crisis. . .uh, you won't have the bad taste to remind me that I am, in fact, closer to 40 than 30, will you?! If so, just eat me & STFU.

In any event, I'm acutely aware that I'm at the midpoint of life if I die at 70 and I feel this general malaise and dissatisfaction that I can not figure out. What is killing me is that I'm aware that my life is pretty freaking sweet for the most part and I'm struggling with what my problem may be with my life. Seriously, I don't have much to complain about at all!

But I feel this yearning, this longing for something. . .something. Something that I can't put my finger on. Something feels off and I want it back on.

Yeah, it's been a rough twelve-months. My beloved father has been within a breath of death twice. We attended around eight funerals last year - I actually lost count. My only brother, my beloved brother, died unexpectedly at the tender age of 41. I finally conceived my darling precious baby after 19-months and that sweet babe died at only 10-weeks gestation. And my body took two emotionally painful weeks before finally expelling that much-wanted baby. Things are generally fucked up in my babyworks and I'm feeling old & barren. The grey hair on my head totally matches my mood. My 2 1/2-year old son acts like he hates me and I've found myself wondering why I left the salary I left to actually spend the time and effort to raise that little one.

I used to feel like one of life's winners, but I increasingly find myself feeling like a pathetic failure. And, dammitall, if there is one thing that I detest, it's fucking failures. I always felt that I could make magic happen, but I feel like a fraud these days. I don't feel like a winner. I feel like a freaking loser.

I feel put upon, but I feel that all I want to do is put out. I'm damn-near obsessed with banging my husband and I wonder why I'm only interested in feeling him inside of me; I need him to fill me up. . .feeling me up is cool too! What has brought on this absolute obsession? Do I feel hollow? Empty? Well, I guess I do. And I am. Not that either of us is complaining, understand, I just find it interesting that I need to feel him in me to feel whole these days.

I feel so generally screwed up inside that I just don't know what to think. My shit's all fucked up and I don't know what to make of anything. Dammit, I didn't spend over $10K on therapy in my lifetime to feel so screwed up now. Why am I struggling so mightily? Is this all just typical life? If so, I freaking hate it!

I want to find my joy again. . .I was ridiculously happy at one time. Unbelievably happy. Losing this baby, losing my brother, has really messed my stuff up. Dammitall! I hate grief! I am so fucking sick of feeling grief! Where is my joy?! When will it return?!

My darling husband has accurately pointed out that things have been pretty screwed up lately. Obviously, right? Anyway, he thinks my hormones are still messed up from the miscarriage and he may well be right. Oh, I wanted that baby so damn much! That child would have helped heal so many wounds. . .but it wasn't meant to be. And I'm aware that I may well still have hormones screwing my stuff up, but it doesn't necessarily make it easy to take.

So where am I now? I don't know. I'm feeling like I want to be totally irresponsible and hedonistic. I'd like to get naked, screw a lot, drink a lot, smoke a lot of cigarettes, possibly do a bump or two of coke.

But where am I really? I'm a middle-aged housewife, feeling the weight of the world upon her, knowing that she has to march on and be strong & sensible for her husband and her young son. I'll continue being a model wife and mother. . .but Paul Simon's lyrics will continue to haunt me. From Slip Sliding Away:

"I know a woman became a wife
These are the very words she uses to describe her life
She said a good day ain't got no rain
She said a bad day's when I lie in bed and think of things that might have been"

What might have been? Man, I don't know. Where would I have been without my wonderful husband? Without our sweet little boy? I can't say anything other than I think it wouldn't have been such a sweet life. And I really have been blessed with a fantastically sweet life.

I found out last week that we were significantly outbid on a house that we both liked. I was bothered because it was the first house in four years that both of us have liked. Upon reflection, I'm okay with losing out on that house. I'm okay with living in this house for the rest of my life as long as I have my marvelous husband and our darling boy with me. I could accept living anywhere as long as I have the very air that I breathe. . .that is, my husband and our son. My midlife may be gearing up, but those two are my touchstones and I thank God for them each and every day.

Have you gone through a midlife crisis? Can you share any details? I'm hurting and feeling so damn confused these days so please share anonymously if you'd like, but do feel free to share.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

A friend requested some more sexy stuff in my blog and I'm happy to oblige, but I want to get a little info about the readership so I came up with this questionnaire. It looks long, but should only take 5-10 minutes to complete. I think I covered everything, but feel free to elaborate if I missed anything that you'd like to share.

Please copy and paste this questionnaire into the comment box below and input your own information. Do make the comment anonymously because I want truthful answers. You can always send your answer to bloggymcbloggerstein@gmail.com but be aware that I'll probably know who sent the questionnaire in if you go that route.

* * *

What is your gender?
What is your age?
What is your sexual orientation?
At what age did you lose your virginity?
How many sexual partners have you had?

Are you in a relationship?
If so, how long have you been with your significant other?
How often do you engage in vaginal sex in a given week?
How often do you engage in anal sex in a given week?
How often to you give or receive oral sex in a given week?
Have any of these numbers measurably changed since the early days of your relationship?

Do you use any sex toys in the bedroom? If so, which ones?
Do you role play? If so, what do you like? Example: teacher/student, employer/employee, etc.
Do you try any BDSM? If so, what?
Do you swing or have an open relationship?

What is your opinion on porn?
What kind of porn do you like?
What kind of porn do you not like?
Do you look at/watch porn with your significant other?
Do you look at/watch porn by yourself? If so, does your significant other know?
Do you think or know that your significant other looks at/watches porn without you?
Have you ever found bedroom inspiration in porn?

How is your pubic region groomed: hardwood, Berber, or shag?
How is your significant other's pubic region groomed?
How do you prefer genitals to be groomed?
Has porn influenced your pubic grooming habits and preferences?

Have you ever cheated on your significant other?
Have you ever cheated on anyone?
If you have, was it with a stranger or someone you know?
Was your primary relationship destroyed from the indiscretion?
Have you ever been cheated on? If so, did it destroy your relationship?

Is there anything that you prefer not to do in the bedroom? If so, what?
Is there anything that you absolutely will not do in the bedroom? If so, what?
If you have anything that's off the table, can you elaborate on why?

Is sex an important part of your relationship (or relationships)?
How often do you orgasm with your significant other in a given week?
How often do you orgasm by yourself in a given week?
To the best of your knowledge, how often does your partner orgasm in a given week?

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

I began writing yet another sexy-ish post today and stopped myself because readers might begin to suspect my integrity, but I'm beginning to think that the name of this blog should be changed to The Insatiable Mrs. Brown!

I knew that hubs and I were chafing at the time wasted on pelvic rest, but geez we're acting like a couple of lustful teenagers. Looks like we'll have to start stocking up on the Vitamin E. (wink!)

So enough of my sexy shenanigans because I'm guessing that there are only two people on this planet who give a rip about our sex life. Instead, I want to bitch about music - concerts, to be specific.

Ages ago it was discovered that both my husband and I like Eric Clapton, but it's interesting that neither of us have ever attended one of his concerts. We decided that we'd totally go the next time he plays in our area. All my recent musical exploration revealed that he's playing in our area in a month from now. I nearly peed myself at the awesome timing of finding out before the concert!

I checked out the ticket prices and, uh, I can swallow some pretty high prices, but don't think I can take $123 for a nosebleed seat. You read that right. It would cost $246 just for two seats! Perhaps I'm old-fashioned or just cheap, but $246 seems like a lot of money for the privilege of listening to a musician for around ninety-minutes. I hope a kiss is included in the price of admission because I already feel f*cked.

I shook my tiny fist of impotent rage at the computer and kvetched about it on Facebook. My brother-in-law had a very interesting comment that I agree with wholeheartedly. His feelings are that these exorbitant ticket prices serve to keep kids out of shows and only allows your more well-heeled or mature audience to attend. He's right.

Then he added that wasn't what rock & roll is about. And it really isn't. Rock is for the youth, but even at $8+ minimum wage, the young kids today would likely find it tough to pony up $123 per ticket. Want to help expose some young people to this fantastic music? Try lowering the ticket prices! I understand that they'll only charge what audiences are willing to pay, but DAMN!

What music would be played at a Clapton concert? A lot of hits that were recorded well over 20-years ago. Songs that were written for the enjoyment of young people. . .young people who grew up to be the only people who would probably be willing to spend $123 for a Clapton concert ticket. I don't want to spend that kind of money and I don't want to miss the show either. Crap!

Anyway, I came across this fun clip today. . .how many of you remember listening to vinyl??? I still have a fairly respectable record collection. All of the albums from The Eagles (still have an ancient The Long Run T-shirt somewhere), Zeppelin IV, and many others that I can't think of off the top of my head. Those were just my favorites. Yeah, I told you all that I was born twenty-years too late.

In closing, rock out with your cock out. Oh, sh*t! I had to go back to sex, huh?

Monday, February 7, 2011

Come on, you didn't really think I'd say sex wasn't important without tacking on that last part, did you?!

I've been told that sex isn't very important by several people over the years. I initially bought the line because I'm a romantic at heart, but I've come to form the opposite opinion. I think it is very important because, well, I like sex and I don't care if that makes me sound whorish or not.

I mean, I like sex so much that I can't understand why someone just doesn't care about it. I can not wrap my head around such a thought. It feels great and it makes you feel connected (literally and figuratively) to another person! Why wouldn't you like it?

I've only heard the "sex isn't all that important" line from women and I wonder why. Is it that sex is such a charged issue to women that they can't just go for it even if that means denying an immense amount of pleasure? Is it that so many women were sexually abused or mistreated in some fashion so they have a hard time accepting sexual desire because it caused such hurt? Is it that somewhere inside we think that fish really don't need bicycles? Or is it an entirely different reason?

I'm not exactly a shrinking virgin and I lost my cherry at a shockingly young age, though it wasn't so shocking to me at the time. I have sometimes wondered why I let someone pluck my sweet peach when it was barely ripening. I don't really have an answer other than it seemed to be the thing to do back in those days. I guess I didn't buy the "nice girls don't put out" line, eh? And I've always thought that a fish would really appreciate a good bicycle!

So I have a rather lengthy sexual history, relative to my age, and I know myself pretty well in the bedroom. If I'm in a relationship and we go any length of time without sex, I start to pick apart and question the entire relationship. It doesn't take long before I'm wondering if there's an unspoken reason for the lack of lovemaking; some resentment, infidelity, or just plain ol' boredom. If I go any long length of time without an orgasm (whether anyone else is involved or not), I start feeling dissatisfied with my entire life and I become somewhat confrontational without that release. Orgasms are a joyous thing and I miss them terribly when they are gone. I'm aware that I probably sound like a guy right about now, but I can assure you that I'm all-woman.

Perhaps you're thinking that I must have been sexualized at a young age or that I suffer some deep-seated psychological damage. Perhaps you'd be right or perhaps not. I have noted that women who were sexually abused tend to go only one of two ways: they either need sex to feel any value & self-worth or they detest sex & hate penis.

I need sex to feel connected with my husband, not to feel my own value. There's no way I can describe how it feels to have all of your love inside. . .and I mean that in the most literal way possible. It's a thing of beauty and a gift.

Look, I'm not saying sex is the most important thing in a relationship because it's not - not by a long shot. Fidelity, forgiveness, honesty, friendship, kindness, respect and stuff like that are more important than sex, but sex is still pretty damn important in my book. Speak anonymously if you'd like, but what do you say on the matter?

Hm, looks like I've uncovered yet another reason why my husband nabbed me and took me for his own as soon as I was back on the market.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

I've always thought it was weird when someone has a very definite "type" that they're interested in, but have noticed that I'm extremely predictable when it comes to the men I pick for dating, mating, and marriage. I know that I've mentioned my proclivities in this blog, but I only realized today that I've had a "type" since I was a teenager. We're always the last to know what's patently obvious to the rest of the world, right?

Desires change over time and, when I was a young teen, I had preferences that differ somewhat from my current choices. In a nutshell, I wouldn't look twice if they didn't have dark skin, hair, and eyes. No blond-haired or blue-eyed albinos were gonna get a piece of my action! I used to joke with my BFF that I was like the UN of dating because every ethnicity and nationality was equally represented. Of course, that's a little bit of an exaggeration!

I was busily watching mid-70s era Eric Clapton videos on youtube while my son napped this afternoon. Shocking, huh? Anyway, I was admiring his full head of hair, his face full of fuzz, and his skinny hips when it hit me - I've been attracted to this look since I was around 17-years old. I'm not saying that I felt all tingly in my girlie parts when looking at 65-year old men, but I'm also not saying that I didn't. In case you're interested, I did today!

But I realized why I like that "type" and it was a revelation to me. I was with a man who sported that exact look back in 1992 or so. We weren't exactly boyfriend-girlfriend in that it wasn't a societally appropriate relationship and I never considered bringing him to meet my parents, but he was absolutely taken with me and I thought he was just wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

Over the years, I've often thought with disdain about the men who were with my under-aged self. As an adult, I find it repugnant that grown men would take advantage of such a young girl. Sure, I was hot to trot, but I was still a friggin' kid and they should have practiced a little self-control.

Interestingly, I've never lumped this particular man in with that group for some damn reason - and he was far & away the oldest to have me! Why do I give him a pass? I don't know. I guess because he loved me. And, oh, how he loved me. Even as a young girl, I could see that I was a feminized ideal to him. I was the Yoko to his John and he was so smitten. Just over the moon. He made me feel perfect and lovely, two things that I haven't felt very frequently. He cherished me and, though I loved him the best I could and I felt alive and free when I was with him, I could not stop myself from pushing him away.

Was it the 25-year age difference? Was it the knowledge that he didn't have and never wanted children? Was it that I feared my parents' certain negative response? I think it was all of those things and the fact that I actively sabotaged my own happiness for many, many years. In hindsight, I know that I could have been happy with him.

I've thought of him often over the years. . .wondering if he replaced me in his heart and yearning to see him just once more. Did he ever find someone more perfectly lovely than me? I hope he did, but on some selfish & childish level, I hope he didn't because I loved being that piece of feminine perfection for someone.

I can't listen to Cat Stevens sing Wild World without thinking of him. I can't see a specific print without thinking of him. I can't give a bearded man a hug & kiss without thinking of him for just a fleeting moment. And, I suppose in some weird way, I desire the men I desire because I never lost my desire and admiration for this particular man.

My husband and I have discussed this relationship a time or two and hubs is fairly disgusted by it all. Not that he's jealous (if you know my hubs you know that he's one of the most confident men on the planet), but that he thinks this man was a total freaking pervert. Yes, 25-years is a big freaking difference when one person in the relationship is only 17. Yes, it was illegal as it gets. Yes, I can understand that some people just won't understand.

But I maintain that if my husband knew my 17-year old self, he'd also find it impossible to resist my charms. Long dark hair straight down to my waist, only weighed around 115-pounds, teeny-tiny waist with nicely rounded hips, and a free & loose attitude toward sex. Damn, I think I just turned myself on by talking about myself!

Really though, hubs should probably send this man a Thank You note because he opened my eyes to the excitement that can only be found with significantly older lovers. Yeah, a 19-year old kid might bang you all night long, but a man knows how to take his time, how to get all cylinders firing, how to take direction, and how to satisfy intellectually. Perhaps that last bit only applies to me, but I can not get stimulated sexually if I'm intellectually strangled.

So there it is; that's my epiphany. My love of older and bewhiskered men is directly traceable to one man. Sometimes I find it crazy how your past shapes your present and your future.

Wherever he is now, I hope he has the same happiness that I experience. . .and I still kind of wonder if he ever fondly remembers me.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

I might be horn-dog, but I'll let you decide after reading this post. What's that? You don't need to read this post to form an opinion on that matter? Hm. . .

If you're friends with me on Facebook, you may have noticed that I've been cruising youtube a lot lately. I love music and I've discovered that the site offers a plethora of live performances that are, quite simply, amazing to enjoy. Over the last several weeks, I've had a blast spending several hours watching clips from long-forgotten television programs and epic concerts from long before my birth.

I was born around twenty-years too late and my musical appetite usually is only sated by late-60s to mid-70s folk music, yacht rock, and the sublime harmonies & polished arrangements that seem to be completely absent in modern music. And guitars, baby. Lord of mercy, I do love guitarists!

My great regret in life is that I never learned how to play an instrument - any instrument. I was actually kicked out of band in school because I couldn't make sound happen when I blew a flute. Uh, settle down, that's not a euphemism for anything sexy. I really could not figure out how to hold my mouth when working with a flute. . .thankfully, the skin variety is far more receptive to my oral manipulations. And, yes, that last part means exactly what you think! Insert a saucy wink here!

I realize that I'm not dead and I still can find the time to learn how to pluck a few chords, but I don't see that happening. In typical parent fashion, I am instead giving my son solid encouragement to take up an instrument. I get the impression that most parents probably hate musical toys, but I actively have bought my son several instruments in an effort to encourage musical exploration. Sure, there are times that the cacophony is a little hard to take, but I'm generally delighted by his artful performances.

The best motherly advice I've given my son to date is this, "Be sure to learn how to be an instrument, the guitar or possibly the piano, because musicians get all the chicks." So sue me, I want him to get laid by hot chicks when he's a grown up. Yeah, I'm sure all this will be worked out in his therapy sessions in about 18-years.

I ran across a clip that effectively demonstrates why chicks dig guitarists. And, to keep the horny vibe going, it's a song by Cream. Heh, I wrote "vibe!" And "horny" and "cream." All in the same sentence! That might be the dirtiest-sounding sentence I've ever written. Okay, you're right; it's nowhere near reaching the notoriety of being the winner in the contest to find the top selection (or would that be bottom?) of my artistic literary depravity.

The entire performance is fantastically awesome, but Clapton is in full God-mode from about 4:05 through the end of the clip. DAMN! That mofo sure can play! Add that he looks high as Hell in this performance and I'm just blown away by his gift.

Check at the 5:20 (to about 5:30) mark to see why I'm captivated by guitarists. Honestly, even the most pug-ugly guitarist can get the chicks if he do that with his hands. I don't think it would take more than around fifteen seconds with that kind of concentrated pressure and vibration - if you catch my drift! I think I got wet just from watching it and I'm not talking about peeing myself.

If a guitarist can work his instrument with that kind of skill and precision, just imagine what he could do with his hands on the instrument of your body. Granted, there is no other guitarist who can come remotely close to the greatness that is Eric Clapton, but the point still stands.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Like a violent drunk who needs all weapons locked up prior to going on a bender, I apparently need my laptop taken away before I decide to go off the wagon. Following is e-mail evidence that I wish I was making up for the purpose of writing this post. Alas, it is verbatim and I'm mortified. I'm only sharing it here because I'm guessing that it might be amusing to some of you and, if read after yesterday's post, the amusement will probably go off the charts.

Perhaps I shouldn't always try to out-drink frat boys when I'm cozying up to Al Co Hall. Just so all the boys & girls out there know for sure, martinis really are like breasts: one isn't enough, but three is just too many. . .particularly when said three glasses of vodka are following a bottle of wine.

* * *

To: My OB at 1:42 am
Sub: Is Pelvic Rest Really Necessary

So, Doctor, I'm not really your patient at this point, but is a six-week period of pelvic rest really necessary in my situation? I've totally ignored the pelvic restriction (after one week) and now I'm wondering if I've broken something up inside of me since I didn't hold fast to the six-weeks? ( you'll say it's all good) For the record, everything feels just fine from my standpoint and I'm not taking any

* * *

To: My OB at 1:58 am
Sub: Pt. II - Laptops Suck!!

I swear that laptops will be the death of me!

So anyway, hubs wants to know if everything is cool up in my babyworks since I've (we've) ignored the restrictions (?!) (so sue me!) and we enjoyed each other tonight. I said it was probably cool, but he had his misgivings. I feel totally fine so I'm hoping that means that everything is, in fact, fine. This six-weeks isn't really necessary, is it?! Really, six-weeks is an awful long time and your advice would be appreciated. . .

* * *

From: My OB at 5:38 am

How can you say that you're not my patient! I certainly hope to continue to be your doctor!
OK, so now to your answer. Many times in medicine we are asked to give advice when no data is available. Our advice of abstaining after a miscarriage is an example. I usually use a 2-3 week advice, never 6 weeks.
No, you didn't harm anything. I do sugget the use of a condom for 2 months after the miscariage to let all heal prior to trying agin.
And I advise continued daily vitamins.

* * *

To: My OB at 9:02 am

Well, I was quite the busy girl last night! I'm impressed at my polite phrasing and it makes for hilarious blog fodder, but cringing at my silly messages to you for the last hour hasn't made them go away and I feel the need to respond.

Not that I'm in the habit of sending e-mails to physicians at 2:00 am or anything, but you can't get too worked up over anything that I say at that time of day if you know what I mean. It just seems awkward to say that you are my doctor since I'm not PG.

Thanks for the reassurance and advice. I am still taking the vitamins and I'll do my best to follow the rest of your suggestions. And, of course, should I find myself knocked up in the future, you will be my doctor!

Best regards, (insert my name here)

PS I'm glad I was right! Ha! :)

* * *

I must be a freaking marvelous patient. Thank goodness that I have a wonderful vagina because I don't think there's much else to recommend me to this poor doctor!

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Yeah, I just stole the title of this post from two pop culture references. Do you know the movie and the song? My alternate title was: One Week Down, Five More to Go

What's the surest way to make me think of something non-stop? Much like dealing with a spoiled child, tell me I can't have something and that is all I want to have or think about. I want to throw myself a tantrum on the floor and beg for whatever it is that I can't have.

What am I restricted from for five more weeks? Sex.

I get that I just had a completed miscarriage and all that, but why was I told that I needed 6-weeks of "pelvic rest?" I read the hospital discharge paperwork and was taken aback at the severity of most of the restrictions, but this one really threw me for a loop. Seriously, six-friggin'-weeks. A month and one half. In case you're wondering, I don't think that's considered a short amount of time and I sure as heck don't like to have my hoo-haw ordered on lockdown.

This waiting period seems rather excessive since I'm not in any pain and I'm certainly good to go - if you know what I mean. Add in that I've been on doctor-ordered pelvic rest nearly non-stop since the end of November and you might understand why I'm chomping at the bit to get back to business with my hubs.
I think my lonely pelvis has only been in full operation for like two solid weeks since the very end of November and it's friggin' February now. How much rest does one pelvis really need?? I can truthfully say that my pelvis is plenty rested at this point!

And what the heck does "pelvic rest" mean anyway? I get that penile penetration is probably out, but what about everything else? Is third-base still on the table? And, if that's not okay, then why does every doctor I see lately feel compelled to get their gloved hands up my vadge? What about orgasms? Will I wreck something up there if I just go for the Big O by myself? Is horseback riding okay? What about enjoying a glass of wine and setting the washing machine to agitate for a good long while?

I've come to the conclusion that these doctors hate my husband, therefore I have had a perpetual pelvic rest restriction for what seems like forever. Do these doctors want me to go bat-shit crazy? Because, if so, the diabolical plan is totally working.

In closing, remember this helpful bit of advice the next time you're trying to decide whether or not to have kids or go to the doctor: Kids don't kill your sex life - doctors do!

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Toddlers are a funny bunch. They clearly want to be big kids, but they cling to the babyhood that they are still experiencing. They sport the mercurial attitudes of teenagers with limited communication ability. Of course, there are many times that I'm thankful my son can't quite bust out the, "you have to let me learn from my own mistakes" line of bull - not to mention the other nonsense that teenagers are so fond of saying. They may not have the crazy hormones that fuel most teen angst, but they certainly have out of control emotions and a decided lack of impulse control.

My son has really been upset by the events of the last several weeks (I think it started when I was battling such severe morning sickness) and he's having trouble expressing himself. The easiest way to get attention? Act out, of course!

It started with potty accidents. The kid has been potty trained for nearly a year and he started having potty accidents out of the blue. At first, I chalked it up to not wanting to miss any fun with his friends. Then I noticed that he'd have accidents any old time even if nothing particularly fun or exciting was going on. He's improved dramatically over a several week period and even goes #2 all by himself these days (I still wipe him though), but he's still not 100% again.

Then he started asking for things he hasn't done in ages. A couple of weeks ago, he began to snuggle up to me and ask if he could take his nap in the pouch. I ordinarily wouldn't mind letting him do so, but we've had so many sleep difficulties that I wasn't willing to get him used to being worn for naps again. I'd remind him that his bed is for sleeping and the pouch is for riding in when Mama wears him and that seemed to satisfy. By the way, I've learned why he refuses to sleep in his toddler bed. He says the twin bed is his bed, but that the toddler bed is a "baby bed."

He's also started playing with toys that he hasn't played with in ages. He protested when I packed up baby toys and convinced me to let him keep a "baby caterpillar" that he last touched when he was less than a year old. He's been playing with that dumb toy for weeks now and shows no sign of boredom with it. He rejoiced when he recognized the cloth "baby diapers" that I unpacked for the baby. Yeah, I kinda jumped the gun there, didn't I?

Weirdest of all, he's developed (or redeveloped) a desire for nursing. He was weaned a long time ago and he still has a strange fascination for boobs (he's either too young or too old for this, right?), but he hasn't tried to cop a feel in a long time. He crawled up to me the other night and immediately started sucking on my breast through my shirt. My milk dried up months ago, but he was totally trying for it.

I pulled him off my breast and gave him a hug. I told him that he'll always be my sweet boy and offered him big boy milk in a cup. He gladly accepted the milk, but wanted to sit on my lap and be cuddled like a baby while he drained his cup.

I've tried to give him love and understanding, but my buttons are being pushed every single day and I find myself wondering if I can take it until he's old enough to go to pre-school. I worry that one more shriek or defiant "NO!" will send me over the edge. And that's not even getting into the daily battles over stupid things like not screwing with curtains and blinds or to stay out of the fridge and the pantry.

I know that this is just a temporary phase, but it's really been getting old since I've been housebound. Does anyone have any suggestions to keep my sanity? I'm tempted to flout my driving restrictions just so I can get the heck out of this house. . .of course, I won't because I'm scared to death of the very real threat of a lawsuit should I actually get in an accident when I shouldn't be driving. Dangit! Only a little more than week left and I can rejoin civilization.